Jamaica Market

One Sunday afternoon in Mexico City we took the metro to the Mercado de Jamaica. The city’s markets are legendary–huge indoor expanses with labyrinthine pathways coursing past stands selling everything imaginable. For a visitor the food area is the big draw, offering a chance to browse exotic produce and grab a stool next to the locals and sample culinary treats from every corner of the country. In addition to the standard market fare, Jamaica (Spanish for hibiscus) serves as the city’s wholesale flower market. Rows and rows of flowers, sold by the stem or in very elaborate arrangements for every occasion. The assault on eyes and nose was intense.

We moved on to the produce section and the focus on aesthetics continued–beautifully arranged sparkling fruits and vegetables of every variety on display. We bought some limes and a pineapple, expertly carved by a machete-wielding vendor. But, it was the food stalls that had really brought us here.

Eating local specialties in a market is one of the joys of traveling. I feel a little bit sorry for those not brave enough to take part in this ritual. I understand the trepidation, but in my experience food stands in the street or in markets that are popular are less likely to give a traveler problems than the average restaurant. Because they have small spaces to work with and typically specialize in just a few things, food doesn’t sit around for long. Plus, all those locals can’t be wrong.

A perfect example of this is tucked away in a corner of the Jamaica market, a little bit of heaven for the adventurous food lover.

“Carnitas Paty” is the name on the sign above the counter. I misread this as “Party”, and with good reason: the place was packed and folks were excited. Every stool was taken and more customers queued three deep, like 2-for-1 night at a college pub. Plates stacked with steaming tacos were doled out in every direction.  We queued up and gracious locals quickly found a couple stools up front for us.

At Paty there’s only one thing on the menu–slow-roasted pork–but still some decisions to be made. The pigs are roasted in big drum cookers just a few feet away, specially vented to keep the smoke out of the Mercado. Workers in white aprons bring steaming piles of meat to the counter where they are sorted into huge metal trays. Customers pick the part they want– everything is available from standard cuts to organs, brains, tongue, or snout. Crammed between queuing customers, waiters running plates to other tables, and the three taco maestros looming above us, we had a crazy view of the action. Huge slabs of meat were tossed on the massive butcher block and within seconds reduced to tiny taco-ready chunks by the blur of a gleaming cleaver. Chunks of meat and fat were flying in all directions. It was like having front-row tickets to a Gallagher show. Talk about being connected to your food.

The maestro then deftly palmed two corn tortillas and used them to scoop up a huge pile of meat for each taco. Repeat three times for a plate, top with minced onion and cilantro, and off they go. Waiters balanced five or six plates at a time. All sense of personal space was abandoned as we watched in awe of the spectacle.

Opting for the standard pulled-pork macisa, we soon had plates in front of us. Stone matetes crammed the bar filled with pickled onions and different salsas. The tacos were so huge we could take the tortillas apart and make two. 2-for-1! Juicy and so flavorful, we couldn’t stop eating them until we were beyond stuffed.

A waiter arrived with a carafe filled with a liter of tepache, a sweet and spicy drink made of fermented pineapple. The atmosphere was crazy, but convivial. Everyone was smiling and passing salsas and enjoying each other’s company and the delicious homemade food and drink.

After stuffing ourselves, then having just one more and downing the last of the tepache we asked for the bill–$8 including tip. Que fantastico!